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The Pembroke Booklets 

(First Series) 

Thomas Lodge 

Songs and Sonnets 

Robert Greene 

Lyrics from Romances, etc. 

Samuel Daniel 

Selected Verse 

J. R. Tutin 


Large Paper Edition, limited to z$o copies 






Thomas Lodge 


" Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers." A. C. SWINBURNE. 

' ' Lodge's love poems have an exquisite delicacy and grace : 
they breathe a tenderer and truer passion than we find in any of 
his contemporaries." MlNTO : Characteristics of English Poets. 

Robert Greene 

(i 560?- 1 592) 

" To [Greene's] songs imperfect justice has . . . hitherto been 
done . . . they are distinguished by a certain sweetness, a fluent 
vein of fancy, and a diction at once poetical and easy to be under- 
stood"}. ADDINGTON SYMONDS: Shakspere's Predecessors in 
the English Drama. 

Samuel Daniel 


" Daniel, gentle, bland, and good. 
The wisest monitor of womanhood." 







Rosalind's Madrigal 

Montanus' Protestation of his Love 

Montanus' Praise of his Fair Phoebe 

Rosader's Praise of Rosalind 

Rosader's Second " Sonnet " 

Coridon's Song 

Love and Phyllis . 

To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess . 

" Fair art thou, Phyllis " . 

' ' O, happy Love ! " 

A Lament in Spring . 

' ' Fair Phoebus' flower upon a summer morn ' 

Imitated from the Italian of Martelli 

' ' For pity, pretty eyes " 

" Accurst be Love ! " 

A Distressed Mother's Lullaby 







Menaphon's Song .... 

Sephestia's Song to her Child 

Menaphon's Roundelay 

Doron's Description of Samela 

Doron's Jig . 

Melicertus' Description of his Mistress 

" What Thing is Love ?" . 

Prince Psammetichus' " Sonnet " . 

The Old Man's Reply 

" Fair is my Love " 

Phyllis and Coridon 

Dorastus' Praise of Fawnia 

Maesia's Song .... 

An Ode : ' ' Down the valley 'gan be track ' 

The Palmer's Ode .... 

Isabel's Ode 







Francesco's Ode ..... 

N'oserez-vous, man bel ami t 

Francesco's Sonnet, called his parting blow 

Eurymachus in laudem Mirimidae . 

Radagon in Dianam .... 

Doralicia's Song ..... 

The Shepherd's Wife's Song 

Madrigal : " Cupid abroad was 'lated in the night " 

Philomela's Ode that she sung in her Arbour 

Lamilia's Song ..... 

Sonnet : "What meant the poets in invective verse' 

Verses written in the Poet's Last Illness . 



Wanton Beauty ...... 



The Golden Age . -49 

Shadows . .51 

Early Love . . .51 

Song : " Had Sorrow ever fitter place " . 52 

Love's Torment . .52 

Love's Secrecy . -53 

Ulysses and the Siren . . -53 

Sonnets to Delia 

1. " Unto the boundless ocean of thy beauty " . 56 

2. "Fair is my Love, and cruel as she's fair " . 56 

3. " Restore thy tresses to the golden ore " . . 57 

4. ' ' Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose " 57 

5. " But love while that thou may'st be loved again " 57 

6. "Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew" . 58 

7. "I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would 

read " . . . . .58 

8. " Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night " . 59 

9. " Let others sing of Knights and Paladines" . 59 
Spring Song ...... 60 

Epistle to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland . 61 

Prefatory Note 

THE three poets represented in the accompanying 
pages may not unfairly be regarded as having, within 
certain limitations, enough in common to warrant their 
inclusion in a single booklet, where a more or less 
obvious similarity in style and in the treatment of 
literary themes is made the uniting bond. In the 
first place, two of them Thomas Lodge and Samuel 
Daniel belong to that notable band of Elizabethans 
for whom Sir Philip Sidney was one of the earliest in 
England to set a fashion in verse, the impulse towards 
which he had himself caught from the sonneteers of 
Italy and France. Daniel, indeed as Mr Sidney Lee 
has pointed out 1 'may be reckoned Sidney's first 
successor on the throne' which the author oiAstrophel 
and Stella, conjointly with Edmund Spenser and 
Thomas Watson, had set up. The inspiration in 
each case was, directly or indirectly, the same, and 
consequently the imitative quality of the work of all 
is clearly manifest, though the debt whether the 
borrowed verse be sonnet or lyric was not always, so 
far as the present writers are concerned, as freely and 
frankly acknowledged. 

It is not, however, in the Sonnet in regard either 
to its subject-matter or its structure that the "common 
denominator" of the present booklet's verse is to be 
found, but rather in the lyric note which pervades and 
characterises it. And here it is that such of the poetic 
work of the remaining member of our trio of singers 
as is represented in the following pages touches that 
of his two gifted contemporaries. Robert Greene shares 
with his literary comrade and coadjutor, Lodge, the 
distinction which belongs to the two most famous 

1 Elizabethan Sonnets : Introduction, vii. 


Prefatory Note 

disciples of John Lyly, the Euphuist, and in this 
connection claims affinity with the author of the most 
famous "novel" of the period the Arcadia of Sidney. 
Scattered throughout the romances which Lodge and 
Greene wrote in imitation of their master, are some of 
the daintiest lyrics which Elizabethan poetry on its 
lighter side has given us. 

Though the critics mostly agree in placing the Songs 
of Lodge above those of his unhappy associate, it is 
probable that the latter had the more original and 
creative mind, a nimbler and more facile fancy for 
much of the verse of Lodge is flagrantly derivative. 1 
Nevertheless, that the author of Rosalind possessed 
the lyrical faculty in an exceptional degree, and used 
it with graceful and commanding skill, no reader of 
the well-known "Madrigal,"^., can deny ; and, despite 
their imitative character, some of his more tuneful 
numbers remain among the rarest treasures of 
Elizabethan song. 

It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to remark that 
the somewhat disproportionate space accorded here 
to the three poets represented is not to be taken as 
indicating the present editor's appraisement of either 
their comparative importance in the hierarchy of letters 
or the relative value of their poetical achievement. 
If, however, the inclusion of Daniel's stately Epistle to 
the Countess of Cumberland appear to call for justifica- 
tion in view of what has been said as to the domin- 
ance, in the following pages, of the lyric note, such 
justification may surely be found in the fact that this 
noble poem represents one of the loftiest expressions 
of its author's contemplative and " well-languaged " 

MAY, 1906. 

1 ' ' There is probably no French lyrist of his generation whose 
work Lodge did not assimilate in greater or less degree. . . . 
Most of his sonnets to Phillis were written with the first book of 
Ronsard's Amours at his elbow." Sidney Lee (ibid.). 

Thomas Lodge 

Rosalind's Madrigal 

LOVE in my bosom like a bee 
Doth suck his sweet : 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 

Now with his feet. 

Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
His bed amidst my tender breast, 
My kisses are his daily feast ; 
And yet he robs me of my rest : 
" Ah, wanton, will ye ? " 

And if I sleep, then percheth he 

With pretty flight, 
And makes his pillow of my knee 

The livelong night. 
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string, 
He music plays if so I sing, 
He lends me every lovely thing ; 
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting : 
" Whist, wanton, still ye ! 

" Else I with roses every day 

Will whip you hence, 
And bind you, when you long to play, 

For your offence ; 
I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in, 
I'll make you fast it for your sin, 
I'll count your power not worth a pin." 
Alas, what hereby shall I win, 
If he gainsay me ? 


Thomas Lodge 

What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod ? 
He will repay me with annoy, 

Because a god. 

" Then sit you safely on my knee, 
And let thy bower my bosom be, 
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee ; 
O Cupid, so thou pity me, 
Spare not, but play thee." 


Montanus' Protestation of 
his Love 

FIRST shall the heavens want starry light, 
The seas be robbed of their waves, 
The day want sun, the sun want bright, 
The night want shade, the dead men graves, 
The April, flowers and leaf and tree, 
Before I false my faith to thee. 

First shall the tops of highest hills 

By humble plains be overpried, 

And poets scorn the Muses' quills, 

And fish forsake the water-glide, 

And Iris lose her coloured weed, 
Before I fail thee at thy need. 

First direful hate shall turn to peace, 
And love relent in deep disdain, 
And Death his fatal stroke shall cease, 
And envy pity every pain, 

And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow smile, 

Before I talk of any guile. 

First Time shall stay his stayless race, 
And Winter bless his boughs with corn, 

Thomas Lodge 

And snow bemoisten July's face, 
And Winter spring, and Summer mourn, 
Before my pen, by help of Fame, 
Cease to recite thy sacred name. 


Montanus' Praise of his Fair 

PHCEBE sat, sweet she sat, 

Sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her : 
White her brow, coy her eye, 

Brow and eye, how much you please me ! 
Words I spent, sighs I sent, 

Sighs and words could never draw her. 
Oh, my love, thou art lost, 

Since no sight could ever ease thee. 

Phoebe sat by a fount, 

Sitting by a fount I spied her : 
Sweet her touch, rare her voice, 

Touch and voice, what may distain * you ? 
As she sung, I did sigh, 

And by sighs whilst that I tried her, 
Oh, mine eyes, you did lose 

Her first sight, whose want did pain you. 

Phoebe's flocks, white as wool, 

Yet were Phoebe's looks more whiter ; 
Phoebe's eyes dove-like mild, 

Dove-like eyes both mild and cruel ; 
Montan swears, in your lamps 

He will die for to delight her. 
Phoebe, yield, or I die ; 

Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel ? 

1 Stain, sully. 


Thomas Lodge 

Rosader's Praise of Rosalind 

LIKE to the clear in highest sphere, 

Where all imperial glory shines, 
Of self-same colour is her hair, 

Whether unfolded or in twines : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 

Refining heaven by every wink ; 
The gods do fear whenas they glow, 

And I do tremble when I think : 
Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 

That beautifies Aurora's face, 
Or like the silver crimson shroud 

That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her lips are like two budded roses 

Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, 
Within which bounds the balm encloses, 

Apt to entice a deity : 

Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Her neck, like to a stately tower 

Where Love himself imprisoned lies, 
To watch for glances every hour 

From her divine and sacred eyes : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Her paps are centres of delight, 

Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
Where nature moulds the dew of light 

To feed perfection with the same : 
Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

With orient pearl, with ruby red, 

With marble white, with sapphire blue, 

Thomas Lodge 

Her body every way is fed, 
Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
Nature herself her shape admires, 

The gods are wounded in her sight ; 
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires 
And at her eyes his brand doth light : 
Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 

Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan 

The absence of fair Rosaline, 
Since for her fair there's fairer none, 
Nor for her virtues so divine : 

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 

Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine ! 


Rosader's Second "Sonnet" 

TURN I my looks unto the skies, 

Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes ; 

If so I gaze upon the ground, 

Love then in every flower is found ; 

Search I the shade to fly my pain, 

Love meets me in the shade again ; 

Wend I to walk in secret grove, 

E'en there I meet with sacred love ; 

If so I bain * me in the spring, 

E'en on the brink I hear him sing ; 

If so I meditate alone, 

He will be partner of my moan ; 

If so I mourn, he weeps with me ; 

And where I am, there will he be. 

(Abridged from Rosalind.} 

i Bathe. 


Thomas Lodge 
Condon's Song 

A BLITHE and bonny country lass 

Heigh ho, the bonny lass ! 
Sat sighing on the tender grass, 

And weeping said, "Will none come woo me ? " 
A smicker 1 boy, a lither swain, 

Heigh ho, a smicker swain ! 
That in his love was wanton fain, 

With smiling looks straight came unto her. 

Whenas the wanton wench espied, 

Heigh ho, when she espied ! 
The means to make herself a bride, 

She simpered smooth like bonny-bell. 
The swain that saw her squint-eyed kind, 

Heigh ho, squint-eyed kind ! 
His arms about her body twined, 

And said, " Fair lass, how fare ye ? well ? " 

The country kit said, " Well, forsooth," 

Heigh ho, well forsooth ! 
' But that I have a longing tooth, 

A longing tooth that makes me cry." 
"Alas ! " said he, "what gars thy grief?" 

Heigh ho, what gars thy grief? 
" A wound," quoth she, " without relief : 

I fear a maid that I shall die." 

" If that be all," the shepherd said, 

Heigh ho, the shepherd said ! 
" I'll make thee wive it, gentle maid, 

And so recure thy malady." 
Hereon they kissed with many an oath, 

Heigh ho, with many an oath ! 
And 'fore god Pan did plight their troth ; 

So to the church apace they hie. 

1 Gay, spruce. 

Thomas Lodge 

And God send every pretty peat, 1 

Heigh ho, the pretty peat ! 
That fears to die of this conceit, 

So kind a friend to help at last. 
Then maids shall never long again, 

Heigh ho, to long again ! 
When they find ease for such a pain : 

Thus my roundelay is past. 


Love and Phyllis 

LOVE guards the roses of thy lips, 
And flies about them like a bee ; 

If I approach, he forward skips, 
And if I kiss, he stingeth me. 

Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, 
And sleeps within their pretty shine ; 

And if I look, the boy will lower, 

And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. 

Love works thy heart within his fire, 
And in my tears doth firm the same, 

And if I tempt it, will retire, 

And of my plaints doth make a game. 

Love, let me cull her choicest flowers, 
And pity me, and calm her eye ; 

Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers, 
Then will I praise thy deity. 

But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her 
In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. 


1 Pet. 

2 The concluding four lines are added from England's Helicon 
from which the arrangement of the last two stanzas is adopted. 


Thomas Lodge 

To Phyllis, the Fair 

MY Phyllis hath the morning sun, 

At first to look upon her ; 
And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds 

Her risings for to honour. 
My Phyllis hath prime-feathered flowers 

That smile when she treads on them ; 
And Phyllis hath a gallant flock 

That leaps since she doth own them. 
But Phyllis hath so hard a heart, 

Alas, that she should have it ! 
As yields no mercy to desert, 

Nor grace to those that crave it. 
Sweet sun, when thou look'st on, 
Pray her regard my moan ; 
Sweet birds, when you sing to her, 
To yield some pity, woo her ; 
Sweet flow'rs, whenas she treads on, 
Tell her, her beauty deads one ; 
And if in life her love she nill agree me, 
Pray her before I die she will come see me. 


" Fair art thou, Phyllis " 

FAIR art thou, Phyllis ; ay, so fair, sweet maid, 
As nor the sun nor I have seen more fair ; 
For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed, 1 
And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair. 
Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue, 
And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath : 
About thy neck do all the graces throng, 
And lay such baits as might entangle Death. 
1 Enclosed. 

Thomas Lodge 

In such a breast what heart would not be thrall ? 

From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces ? 

At thy fair hands who wonders not at all 

Wonder itself through ignorance embases. 1 

Yet, natheless, though wondrous gifts you call these, 

My faith is far more wonderful than all these. 


" O, happy Love ! ' 

A VERY Phoenix, in her radiant eyes 

I leave mine age, and get my life again : 

True Hesperus, I watch her fall and rise, 

And with my tears extinguish all my pain. 

My lips for shadows shield her springing roses ; 

Mine eyes for watchmen guard her while she sleepeth ; 

My reasons serve to quiet her faint supposes. 

Her fancy mine, my faith her fancy, keepeth : 

She, flower ; I, branch ; her sweets my sours sup 

porteth ; 
O, happy Love, where such delights consorteth ! 

(Scylla's Metamorphosis?) 

A Lament in Spring 

THE earth, late choked with showers, 

Is now arrayed in green ; 
Her bosom springs with flowers, 
The air dissolves her teen : 2 
The heavens laugh at her glory, 
Yet bide I sad and sorry. 

The woods are decked with leaves, 
The trees are clothed gay, 

1 Is humbled. 2 Sorrow. 


Thomas Lodge 

And Flora, crowned with sheaves, 
With oaken boughs doth play ; 
Where I am clad in black, 
The token of my wrack. 

The birds upon the trees 

Do sing with pleasant voices, 
And chant in their degrees 
Their loves and lucky choices ; 
When I, whilst they are singing, 
With sighs mine arms am wringing. 

The thrushes seek the shade, 

And I my fatal grave ; 
Their flight to heaven is made, 
My walk on earth I have ; 
They free, I thrall ; they jolly, 
I sad and pensive wholly. 

(Scyllafs Metamorphosis.} 

Fair Phoebus' Flower upon 
a Summer Morn" 

FAIR Phoebus' flower upon a summer morn, 
'Gan, proud with love, to show her painted pride, 
And, gay with glory, with a curious scorn 
Disdained those buds that blossomed her beside ; 

When Rose and Lilies, Violets and Balm 
(Scarce warmed to work their beauties to a flow'r) 
With envious wrath near to a water calm 
Behold my Phyllis in a happy hour. 

Not waked, nor won too much with solemn sleep, 
But sweetly slumb'ring, they behold my Saint : 
The Rose and Lilies both together creep ; 
The one her lip, the next her cheek, did taint. 

Thomas Lodge 

And both they spread ; the Violet, consumed 
To gentle air, her amber breath fulfilled : 
Apollo, feeling all the air perfumed, 
With gentle beams into her eyes distilled. 

His flower, amazed, gave Rose and Lilies place 
The Sun his shine within her eyes containeth ; 
The Rose her lips, the Lilies deck her face ; 
The Violet within her breath remaineth. 


THEN cease, fond men, henceforth to boast your flow'rs, 
Since Roses, Lilies, Violets are ours, 
And Phoebus' flow'r doth homage to their pow'rs, 
And Phyllis' eye his glorious beams devours. 

(Scyllofs Metamorphosis^) 

Imitated from the Italian of 

O SHADY vales, O fair enriched meads, 
O sacred woods, sweet fields, and rising mountains; 
O painted flowers, green herbs, where Flora treads, 
Refreshed by wanton winds and wat'ry fountains ! 
O all you winged choristers of wood, 
That, perched aloft, your former pains report, 
And straight again recount with pleasant mood 
Your present joys in sweet and seemly sort ! 
O all you creatures, whosoever thrive 
On mother earth, in seas, by air, or fire, 
More blest are you than I here under sun : 
Love dies in me, whenas he doth revive 
In you ; I perish under Beauty's ire, 
Where after storms, winds, frosts, your life is won. 
(A Margarite of America.} 
P. 8 B 17 

Thomas Lodge 

For Pity, Pretty Eyes" 

FOR pity, pretty eyes, surcease 

To give me war, and grant me peace. 

Triumphant eyes, why bear you arms 

Against a heart that thinks no harms ? 

A heart already quite appalled, 

A heart that yields and is enthralled ? 

Kill rebels, proudly that resist ; 
Not those that in true faith persist, 
And conquered serve your deity. 
Will you, alas, command me die ? 
Then die I yours, and death my cross ; 
But unto you pertains the loss. 

(The Phcenix 3 Nest.) 

Accurst be Love ! 

ACCURST be Love, and those that trust his trains ! 
He tastes the fruit whilst others toil j 
He brings the lamp, we lend the oil ; 
He sows distress, we yield him soil ; 
He wageth war, we bide the foil. 

Accurst be Love, and those that trust his trains ! 
He lays the trap, we seek the snare ; 
He threat'neth death, we speak him fair ; 
He coins deceits, we foster care ; 
He favoureth pride, we count it rare. 

Accurst be Love, and those that trust his trains ! 
He seemeth blind, yet wounds with art ; 
He vows content, he pays with smart ; 

Thomas Lodge 

He swears relief, yet kills the heart ; 
He calls for truth, yet scorns desart. 
Accurst be Love, and those that trust his trains ! 
Whose heaven is hell, whose perfect joys are pains. 

(Tk Pkccmx* Ntst.) 

A Distressed Mother's 

Ah, little lads, 
Give ceaseless sorrow end with lullaby ; 

Suck up my tears 
That stream from out the fountains of mine eye ; 

Feed, feed on me 
Whom no good hope or fortune glads, 

O, set me free 

From those incessant and pursuing fears 
Which waken up my woes and kill my pleasure. 

Lullaby : 

Weep, weep no more, 
But let me weep, and, weeping, weep life hence, 

That, whilst you want, 
I may not see false Fortune's proud pretence : 

When I am dead, 
My God, perhaps, will send you store. 

O, smile in need, 

Poor hungry babes, let smiles be nothing scant : 
I, tears ; you, smiles ; both have no better treasure 
To bring these woes exceeding mean or measure 

To lullaby. 
( The Life and Death of William Longbeard.) 

Robert Greene 

Menaphon's Song 

SOME say, Love, 
Foolish Love, 

Doth rule and govern all the gods : 
I say, Love, 
Inconstant Love, 

Sets men's senses far at odds. 
Some swear, Love, 
Smooth-faced Love, 

Is sweetest sweet that men can have : 
I say, Love, 
Sour Love, 

Makes virtue yield as beauty's slave ; 
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all, 
That forceth wisdom to be folly's thrall. 

Love is sweet ? 
Wherein sweet ? 

In fading pleasures that do pain ? 
Beauty sweet ? 
Is that sweet 

That yieldeth sorrow for a gain ? 
If Love's sweet, 
Herein sweet, 

That minutes' joys are monthly woes : 
'Tis not sweet 
That is sweet 

Nowhere but where repentance grows. 
Then love who list, if beauty be so sour ; 
Labour for me, Love rest in prince's bower. 



Robert Greene 

Sephestia's Song to her Child 

WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Mother's wag, pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy ; 

When thy father first did see 

Such a boy by him and me, 

He was glad, I was woe ; 

Fortune changed made him so 

When he left his pretty boy, 

Last his sorrow, first his joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

Streaming tears that never stint, 

Like pearl drops from a flint, 

Fell by course from his eyes, 

That one another's place supplies ; 

Thus he grieved in every part, 

Tears of blood fell from his heart, 

When he left his pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 

The wanton smiled, father wept, 

Mother cried, baby leapt ; 

More he crowed, more we cried, 

Nature could not sorrow hide : 

He must go, he must kiss 

Child and mother, baby bless, 

For he left his pretty boy, 

Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 



Robert Greene 

Menaphon's Roundelay 

WHEN tender ewes, brought home with evening sun, 

Wend to their folds, 

And to their holds 
The shepherds trudge when light of day is done, 

Upon a tree 
The eagle, Jove's fair bird, did perch ; 

There resteth he. 

A little fly his harbour then did search, 
And did presume, though others laughed thereat, 
To perch whereas the princely eagle sat. 

The eagle frowned, and shook his royal wings, 

And charged the fly 

From thence to hie : 
Afraid, in haste, the little creature flings, 

Yet seeks again, 
Fearful, to perk him by the eagle's side. 

With moody vein, 

The speedy post of Ganymede replied, 
" Vassal, avaunt, or with my wings you die ; 
Is't fit an eagle seat him with a fly ? " 

The fly craved pity, still the eagle frowned ; 

The silly fly, 

Ready to die, 
Disgraced, displaced, fell grovelling to the ground : 

The eagle saw, 
And with a royal mind said to the fly, 

" Be not in awe, 

I scorn by me the meanest creature die ; 
Then seat thee here." The joyful fly up flings, 
And sat safe shadowed with the eagle's wings. 



Robert Greene 

Doron's Description of 

LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, 
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 

Goes fair Samela ; 

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, 
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, 

Is fair Samela ; 

As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, 

Is fair Samela ; 

Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, 
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move , 

Shines fair Samela ; 

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 

Of fair Samela ; 

Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams, 
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony : 

Thus fair Samela 

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, 
And Juno in the show of majesty, 

For she's Samela; 

Pallas in wit ; all three, if you well view, 
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity, 

Yield to Samela. 


Doron's Jig 

THROUGH the shrubs as I 'gan crack 
For my lambs, little ones, 

'Mongst many pretty ones 
(Nymphs I mean) whose hair was black 
As the crow ; 
Like the snow 


Robert Greene 

Her face and brows shined, I ween ; 
I saw a little one, 
A bonny pretty one, 
As bright, buxom, and as sheen, 
As was she 
On her knee 

That lulled the god whose arrow warms 
Such merry little ones, 
Such fair-faced pretty ones, 
As dally in love's chiefest harms : 
Such was mine, 
Whose grey eyne 
Made me love. I 'gan to woo 
This sweet little one, 
This bonny pretty one ; 
I wooed hard a day or two, 

Till she bade 
' Be not sad, 

Woo no more, I am thine own, 
Thy dearest little one, 
Thy truest pretty one.' 
Thus was faith and firm love shown, 
As behoves 
Shepherds' loves. 


Melicertus' Description of 
his Mistress 

TUNE on, my pipe, the praises of my love, 
And midst thy oaten harmony recount 
How fair she is that makes thy music mount, 

And every string of thy heart's harp to move. 

Shall I compare her form unto the sphere, 
Whence sun-bright Venus vaunts her silver shine ? 
Ah, more than that by just compare is thine, 

Whose crystal looks the cloudy heavens do clear. 


Robert Greene 

How oft have I descending Titan seen 
His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap 
And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap 

In watery robes, as he her lord had been ; 

Whenas my nymph, impatient of the night, 
Bade bright Atrseus with his train give place, 
Whiles she led forth the day with her fair face 

And lent each star a more than Delian light. 

Not Jove or Nature, should they both agree 
To make a woman of the firmament 
Of his mixed purity, could not invent 

A sky-born form so beautiful as she. 


"What Thing is Love?" 

WHAT thing is love ? It is a power divine 
That reigns in us, or else a wreakful law 
That dooms our minds to beauty to incline ; 
It is a star, whose influence doth draw 

Our hearts to love, dissembling of his might 
Till he be master of our hearts and sight. 

Lore is a discord, and a strange divorce 
Betwixt our sense and reason, by whose power, 
As mad with reason, we admit that force 
Which wit or labour never may devour ; 
It is a will that brooketh no consent : 
It would refuse, yet never may repent. 

Love's a desire, which for to wait a time, 
Doth lose an age of years, and so doth pass, 
As doth the shadow, severed from his prime, 
Seeming as though it were, yet never was ; 

Leaving behind nought but repentant thoughts 
Of days ill spent, for that which profits noughts. 



life O) 

Robert Greene 

It's now a peace, and then a sudden war ; 

A hope consumed before it is conceived ; 

At hand it fears, and menaceth afar ; 

And he that gains is most of all deceived : 
It is a secret hidden and not known, 
Which one may better feel than write upon. 


Prince Psammetichus' 
" Sonnet" 

One of the Chaldees, having an insight into the lascivious 
fe of[Psammetichus], persuaded him to desist from such fading 
pleasures, whose momentary delights did breed lasting reproach 
and infamy ; the young prince, making light account of his 
words, went into his study and wrote him an answer sonnet-wise 
to this effect : "] 

IN Cyprus sat fair Venus by a fount, 

Wanton Adonis toying on her knee : 
She kissed the wag, her darling of account ; 

The boy 'gan blush, which when his lover see, 
She smiled, and told him love might challenge debt, 
And he was young, and might be wanton yet. 

The boy waxed bold, fired by fond desire, 

That woo he could and court her with conceit : 
Reason spied this, and sought to quench the fire 

With cold disdain ; but wily Adon straight 
Cheered up the flame, and said, " Good Sir, what let ? 
I am but young, and may be wanton yet." 

Reason replied, that beauty was a bane 

To such as feed their fancy with fond love, 
That when sweet youth with lust is overta'en, 
It rues in age : this could not Adon move, 
For Venus taught him still this rest to set, 
That he was young, and might be wanton yet. 

Where Venus strikes with beauty to the quick, 
It little 'vails sage Reason to reply ; 

Robert Greene 

Few are the cares for such as are love-sick, 
But love : then, though I wanton it awry, 
And play the wag, from Adon this I get, 
I am but young, and may be wanton yet. 

(Perimedes, the Blacksmith.} 

The Old Man's Reply 

THE Siren Venus nourished in her lap 

Fair Adon, swearing whiles he was a youth 
He might be wanton : note his after-hap, 

The guerdon that such lawless lust ensu'th ; 
So long he followed flattering Venus' lore, 
Till, seely * lad, he perished by a boar. 

Mars in his youth did court this lusty dame, 

He won her love ; what might his fancy let 
He was but young ? at last, unto his shame, 

Vulcan entrapped them slily in a net, 
And called the Gods to witness as a truth, 
A lecher's fault was not excused by youth. 

If crooked age accounted! youth his spring, 
The spring, the fairest season of the year, 
Enriched with flowers, and sweets, and many a thing 

That fair and gorgeous to the eyes appear ; 
It fits that youth, the spring of man, should be 
'Riched with such flowers as virtue yieldeth thee. 

(Perimedes, the Blacksmith.} 

" Fair is my Love " 

FAIR is my love, for April in her face, 

Her lovely breasts September claims his part, 
And lordly July in her eyes takes place, 

But cold December dwelleth in her heart : 
Blest be the months, that set my thoughts on fire, 
Accurst that month that hindereth my desire \ 
1 Simple. 

Robert Greene 

Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes ; 

As air perfumed with amber is her breath ; 

Like swelling waves, her lovely teats do rise ; 

As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death : 
Ah me, poor man, that on the earth do live, 
When unkind earth death and despair doth give ! 

In pomp sits mercy seated in her face ; 

Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint ; 
Her eyes shine favour, courtesy, and grace ; 

But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint ! 
Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain ; 
The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. 


Phyllis and Coridon 

PHYLLIS kept sheep along the western plains, 

And Coridon did feed his flocks hard by : 
This shepherd was the flower of all the swains 

That traced the downs of fruitful Thessaly, 
And Phyllis, that did far her flocks surpass 
In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass. 

A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire, 
Was lovely Phyllis, Coridon swore so ; 
Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, 

He left his lambs, and he began to woo ; 
He looked, he sighed, he courted with a kiss, 
No better could the silly swad 1 than this. 

He little knew to paint a tale of love, 

Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say : 
Phyllis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove 
What uncouth grief poor Coridon did pay ; 
She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, 
Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care. 

i Clown. 

Robert Greene 

The shepherd blushed when Phyllis questioned so, 

And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks ; 
" 'Tis love, fair Phyllis, breedeth all this woe, 

My thoughts are trapped within thy lovely locks, 
Thine eye hath pierced, thy face hath set on fire ; 
Fair Phyllis kindleth Coridon's desire." 

" Can shepherds love ? " said Phyllis to the swain ; 

" Such saints as Phyllis," Coridon replied ; 
" Men when they lust can many fancies feign," 

Said Phyllis ; this not Coridon denied, 
" That lust had lies, but love," quoth he, " says truth ; 
Thy shepherd loves, then, Phyllis, what ensu'th ? " 

Phyllis was won, she blushed and hung the head ; 

The swain stepped to, and cheered her with a kiss ; 
With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead ; 

So used they when men thought not amiss : 
This love begun and ended both in one ; 
Phyllis was loved, and she liked Coridon. (Ibid.) 

Dorastus' Praise of Fawnia 

AH, were she pitiful as she is fair, 

Or but as mild as she is seeming so, 
Then were my hopes greater than my despair, 

Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. 
Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand, 

That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, 
Then knew I where to seat me in a land 

Under wide heavens, but yet [there is] not such. 
So as she shows, she seems the budding rose, 

Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower ; 
Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows, 

Compassed she is with thorns and cankered bower : 
Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn. 
She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. 

Ah, when she sings, all music else be still, 
For none must be compared to her note ; 

Robert Greene 

Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill, 
Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat. 

Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed, 
She comforts all the world, as doth the sun, 

And at her sight the night's foul vapours fled ; 
When she is set, the gladsome day is done. 

O glorious sun, imagine me the west, 

Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast ! 


Maesia's Song 

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content ; 

The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; 

The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : 
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, 
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 

The homely house that harbours quiet rest ; 

The cottage that affords no pride nor care ; 
The mean that 'grees with country music best ; 

The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare ; 
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 
A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 

(Farewell to Folly.} 

An Ode . 

DOWN the valley 'gan he track, 
Bag and bottle at his back, 
In a surcoat all of gray ; 
Such wear palmers on the way, 
When with scrip and staff they see 
Jesus' grave on Calvary ; 
A hat of straw, like a swain, 
Shelter for the sun and rain, 
With a scallop shell before ; 
Sandals on his feet he wore ; 


Robert Greene 

Legs were bare, arms unclad : 
Such attire this palmer had. 
His face fair like Titan's shine ; 
Gray and buxom were his eyne, 
Whereout dropped pearls of sorrow : 
Such sweet tears love doth borrow, 
When in outward dews she plains 
Heart's distress that lovers pains ; 
Ruby lips, cherry cheeks : 
Such rare mixture Venus seeks, 
When to keep her damsels quiet, 
Beauty sets them down their diet. 
Adon was not thought more fair ; 
Curled locks of amber hair, 
Locks where love did sit and twine 
Nets to snare the gazer's eyne. 
Such a palmer ne'er was seen, 
'Less Love himself had palmer been. 
Yet, for all he was so quaint, 
Sorrow did his visage taint : 
'Midst the riches of his face, 
Grief deciphered high disgrace. 
Every step strained a tear ; 
Sudden sighs showed his fear ; 
And yet his fear by his sight 
Ended in a strange delight, 
That his passions did approve, 
Weeds and sorrow were for love. 

{Never Too Late.} 

The Palmer's Ode 

OLD Menalcas, on a day, 
As in field this shepherd lay, 
Tuning of his oaten pipe, 
Which he hit with many a stripe, 
Said to Coridon that he 
Once was young and full of glee 
" Blithe and wanton was I then 
Such desires follow men. 

Robert Greene 

As I lay and kept my sheep, 

Came the God that hateth sleep, 

Clad in armour all of fire, 

Hand in hand with queen Desire, 

And with a dart that wounded nigh, 

Pierced my heart as I did lie ; 

That when I woke I 'gan swear 

Phyllis beauty's palm did bear. 

Up I start, forth went I, 

With her face to feed mine eye ; 

There I saw Desire sit, 

That my heart with love had hit, 

Laying forth bright beauty's hooks 

To entrap my gazing looks. 

Love I did, and 'gan to woo, 

Pray and sigh ; all would not do : 

Women, when they take the toy, 

Covet to be counted coy. 

Coy she was, and I 'gan court ; 

She thought love was but a sport ; 

Profound hell was in my thought : 

Such a pain desire had wrought, 

That I sued with sighs and tears ; 

Still ingrate, she stopped her ears, 

Till my youth I had spent. 

Last a passion of repent 

Told me flat, that Desire 

Was a brand of love's fire, 

Which consumeth men in thrall, 

Virtue, youth, wit, and all. 

At this saw back I start, 

Beat Desire from my heart, 

Shook off Love, and made an oath 

To be enemy to both. 

Old I was when thus I fled 

Such fond toys as cloyed my head ; 

But this I learned at Virtue's gate, 

The way to good is never late." 

Nunguam sera est ad bonos mores via. 


Robert Greene 

Isabel's Ode 1 

SITTING by a river side, 
Where a silent stream did glide, 
Banked about with choice flowers, 
Such as spring from April showers, 
When fair Iris smiling shows 
All her riches in her dews ; 
Thick-leaved trees so were planted 
As nor Art nor Nature wanted ; 
Bord'ring all the brook with shade 
As if Venus there had made 
By Flora's wile a curious bower 
To dally with her paramour. 
At this current as I gazed, 
Eyes entrapped, mind amazed, 
I might see in my ken 
Such a flame as fireth men, 
Such a fire as doth fry 
With one blaze both heart and eye, 
Such a heat as doth prove 
No heat like to heat of love. 
Bright she was, for 'twas a she 
That traced her steps towards me ; 
On her head she wore a bay, 
To fence Phoebus' light away ; 
In her face one might descry 
The curious beauty of the sky ; 
Her eyes carried darts of fire, 
Feathered all with swift desire ; 
Yet forth these fiery darts did pass 
Pearled tears as bright as glass, 
That wonder 'twas in her eyne 
Fire and water should combine 
If th' old saw did not borrow 
Fire is love and water sorrow. 

1 Cf. the opening couplet of " Philomela's Ode " in Philomela. 
(Seep. 44.) 

P. 6 C 33 

Robert Greene 

Down she sat, pale and sad, 

No mirth in her looks she had : 

Face and eyes showed distress, 

Inward sighs discoursed no less ; 

Head on hand might I see, 

Elbow leaned on her knee ; 

Last she breathed out this saw : 

" O, that love hath no law ! 

Love enforceth with constraint, 

Love delighteth in complaint ; 

Whoso loves hates his life, 

For love's peace is mind's strife ; 

Love doth feed on beauty's fare, 

Every dish sauced with care : 

Chiefly women reason why 

Love is hatched in their eye ; 

Thence it steppeth to the heart ; 

There it poisoneth every part, 

Mind and heart, eye and thought, 

Till sweet love their woes hath wrought ; 

Then, repentant, they 'gan cry 

' O, my heart, that trowed * mine eye ! ' " 

Thus she said, and then she rose, 
Face and mind both full of woes, 
Flinging thence, with this saw, 
Fie on love that hath no law ! 


Francesco's Ode 

WHEN I look about the place 
Where sorrow nurseth up disgrace, 
Wrapped within a fold of cares, 
Whose distress no heart spares ; 
Eyes might look, but see no light, 
Heart might think but on despite ; 
Sun did shine, but not on me. 
Sorrow said, it may not be 

1 Trusted. 

Robert Greene 

That heart or eye should once possess 
Any salve to cure distress ; 
For men in prison must suppose 
Their couches are the beds of woes. 
Seeing this, I sighed then 
Fortune thus should punish men : 
But when I called to mind her face, 
For whose love I brook this place, 
Starry eyes, whereat my sight 
Did eclipse with much delight, 
Eyes that lighten, and do shine, 
Beams of love that are divine ; 
Lily cheeks, whereon beside 
Buds of roses show their pride ; 
Cherry lips, which did speak 
Words that made all hearts to break, 
Words most sweet, for breath was sweet 
(Such perfume for love is meet.) 
Precious words, as hard to tell 
Which more pleased, wit or smell ; 
When I saw my greatest pains 
Grow for her that beauty stains, 
Fortune thus I did reprove : 
Nothing griefful grows from love. 


N'oserez-vous, mon bel ami 
(Infida's Song) 

SWEET Adon, dar'st not glance thine eye 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 
Upon thy Venus that must die ? 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

See how sad thy Venus lies, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 


Robert Greene 

Love in heart, and tears in eyes ; 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, man bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Thy face as fair as Paphos' brooks, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Wherein Fancy baits her hooks ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami f 

Thy cheeks like cherries that do grow 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Amongst the western mounts of snow ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami f 

Thy lips vermilion, full of love, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami f 

Thy neck as silver-white as dove ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thine eyes, like flames of holy fires, 
N oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Burn all my thoughts with sweet desires ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

All thy beauties sting my heart ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami f 

I must die through Cupid's dart ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami f 

Robert Greene 

Wilt thou let thy Venus die ? 

N'oserez vous, man bel ami f 
Adon were unkind, say I, 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

To let fair Venus die for woe, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

That doth love sweet Adon so ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

Noserez vous, mon bel ami ? 


Francesco's Sonnet 
(Called his Parting Blow) 

REASON, that long in prison of my will 

Hast wept thy mistress' wants and loss of time, 

Thy wonted siege of honour safely climb : 

To thee I yield as guilty of mine ill. 

Lo, fettered in their tears, mine eyes are pressed 

To pay due homage to their native guide : 

My wretched heart, wounded with bad betide, 

To crave his peace from reason is addressed. 

My thoughts ashamed, since by themselves consumed, 

Have done their duty to repentant wit : 

Ashamed of all, sweet guide, I sorry sit, 

To see in youth how I too far presumed. 

Thus he whom love and error did betray 

Subscribes to thee and takes the better way. 



Robert Greene 

Eurymachus in laudem 

WHEN Flora, proud in pomp of all her flowers, 

Sat bright and gay, 
And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers, 

And did display 
Her mantle chequered all with gaudy green ; 

Then I 

A mournful man in Erecine was seen. 

With folded arms I trampled through the grass, 

Tracing as he 
That held the throne of Fortune brittle glass, 

And love to be, 
Like Fortune, fleeting as the restless wind, 


With mists, 
Whose damp doth make the clearest eyes grow blind. 

Thus in a maze, I spied a hideous flame ; 

I cast my sight 
And saw where, blithely bathing in the same 

With great delight, 
A worm did lie, wrapped in a smoky sweat ; 

And yet 

'Twas strange, 
It careless lay and shrunk not at the heat. 

I stood amazed and wondering at the sight, 

While that a dame, 
That shone like to the heaven's rich sparkling light 

Discoursed the same ; 
And said, "My friend, this worm within the fire, 

Which lies 

Is Venus' worm, and represents desire. 


Robert Greene 

" A salamander is this princely beast : 

Decked with a crown, 
Given him by Cupid as a gorgeous crest 

'Gainst fortune's frown. 
Content he lies and bathes him in the flame, 

And goes 

Not forth, 
For why, he cannot live without the same. 

" As he, so lovers lie within the fire 

Of fervent love, 
And shrink not from the flame of hot desire, 

Nor will not move 
From any heat that Venus' force imparts, 

But lie 

Within a fire, and waste away their hearts." 

Up flew the dame, and vanished in a cloud, 

But there stood I, 
And many thoughts within my mind did shroud 

Of love ; for why, 
I felt within my heart a scorching fire, 

And yet, 

As did 
The salamander, 'twas my whole desire. 


Radagon in Dianam 

IT was a valley gaudy green, 
Where Dian at the fount was seen ; 

Green it was, 

And did pass 

All other of Diana's bowers, 
In the pride of Flora's flowers. 

A fount it was that no sun sees, 
Circled in with cypress trees, 


Robert Greene 

Set so nigh 

As Phoebus' eye 
Could not do the virgins scathe, 
To see them naked when they bathe. 

She sat there all in white, 
Colour fitting her delight : 

Virgins so 

Ought to go. 

For white in armory is placed 
To be the colour that is chaste. 

Her taffeta cassock might you see 
Tucked up above her knee, 

Which did show 

There below 

Legs as white as whale's bone, 
So white and chaste were never none. 

Hard by her, upon the ground, 
Sat her virgins in a round 

Bathing their 

Golden hair, 

And singing all in notes high, 
" Fie on Venus' flattering eye ! 

Fie on love, it is a toy ; 
Cupid witless and a boy ; 

All his fires, 

And desires, 

Are plagues that God sent down from high, 
To pester men with misery." 

As thus the virgins did disdain 
Lovers' joys and lovers' pain, 

Cupid nigh 

Did espy, 

Grieving at Diana's song, 
Slyly stole these maids among. 

Robert Greene 

His bow of steel, darts of fire, 

He shot amongst them sweet desire, 

Which straight flies 

In their eyes, 

And at the entrance made them start 
For it ran from eye to heart. 

Calisto straight supposed Jove 
Was fair and frolic for to love ; 

Dian she 

'Scaped not free, 
For, well I wot, hereupon 
She loved the swain Endymion ; 

Clytia, Phoebus ; and Chloris' eye 
Thought none so fair as Mercury : 

Venus thus 

Did discuss 

By her son in darts of fire, 
None so chaste to check desire. 

Dian rose with all her maids, 
Blushing thus at love's braids. 1 

With sighs, all 

Show their thrall ; 

And flinging hence pronounce this saw, 
What so strong as love's sweet law f 


Doralicia's Song 

IN time we see the silver drops 
The craggy stones make soft ; 

The slowest snail in time we see 
Doth creep and climb aloft. 

With feeble puffs the tallest pine 

In tract of time doth fall ; 
The hardest heart in time doth yield 
To Venus' luring call. 
1 Reproaches, upbraidings. 

Robert Greene 

Where chilling frost alate did nip 

There flasheth now a fire ; 
Where deep disdain bred noisome hate 

There kindleth now desire. 

Time causeth hope to have his hap, 

What care in time not eased ? 
In time I loathed that now I love, 

In both content and pleased. 


The Shepherd's Wife's Song 

AH, what is love ? It is a pretty thing, 
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; 

And sweeter too, 

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, 
As merry as a king in his delight ; 

And merrier too, 

For kings bethink them what the state require, 
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 

His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat ; 

And blither too, 

For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 

What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 


Robert Greene 

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, 
As is a king in dalliance with a queen ; 

More wanton too, 

For kings have many griefs affects to move, 
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound, 
As doth the king upon his beds of down ; 

More sounder too, 

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, 
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe 
As doth the king at every tide or sithe ; l 

And blither too, 

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, 
When shepherds laugh and love upon the land. 

Ah then, ah then, 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 


Madrigal ' 

CUPID abroad was 'lated in the night ; 
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain : 
Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight, 
To dry his plumes : I heard the boy complain ; 

1 Time, occasion. 

1 Cf. the Madrigal in ^4/rfa,commencing, "Restthee, Desire, 
gaze not at such a star," where, with slight variations and the 
addition of an introductory stanza, the above lines had pre- 
viously appeared. Alcida was published in 1588, Orpharion in 


Robert Greene 

I oped the door, and granted his desire ; 
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire. 

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame, 
I spied his quiver hanging by his back ; 
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, 
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack : 
But what I drad did me poor wretch betide, 
For forth he drew an arrow from his side. 

He pierced the quick, and I began to start, 
A pleasing wound, but that it was too high : 
His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared, smart. 
Away he flew, for why ? his wings were dry 
But left the arrow sticking in my breast, 
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest. 


Philomela's Ode that she sung 
in her Arbour 1 

SITTING by a river's side, 
Where a silent stream did glide, 
Muse I did of many things 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I 'gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honour is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent ; 
And some others do contend 
Quiet none like to a friend ; 
Others hold, there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfect health ; 
Some man's mind in quiet stands 
When he is lord of many lands : 

1 Cf. the opening couplet of " Isabel's Ode" in Never Too 
Late. (See p. 33.) 


Robert Greene 

But I did sigh, and said all this 
Was but a shade of perfect bliss , 
And in my thoughts I did approve 
Naught so sweet as is true love. 
Love 'twixt lovers passeth these, 
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees ; 
With folded arms and lips meeting, 
Each soul another sweetly greeting ; 
For by the breath the soul fleeteth, 
And soul with soul in kissing meeteth. 
If love be so sweet a thing 
That such happy bliss doth bring, 
Happy is love's sugared thrall ; 
But unhappy maidens all, 
Who esteem your virgin blisses 
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
No such quiet to the mind 
As true love with kisses kind ; 
But if a kiss prove unchaste 
Then is true love quite disgraced. 

Though love be sweet, learn this of me, 

No love sweet but honesty. 


Lamilia's Song 

FIE, fie, on blind fancy, 

It hinders youth's joy ; 

Fair virgins, learn by me, 

To count love a toy. 

When Love learned first the A B C of delight, 
And knew no figures nor conceited phrase, 
He simply gave to due desert her right, 
He led not lovers in dark winding ways ; 
He plainly willed to love, or flatly answered "No ! " 
But now who lists to prove, shall find it nothing so. 

Fie, fie then on fancy, 

It hinders youth's joy ; 

Fair virgins, learn by me 

To count love a toy. 


Robert Greene 

For since he learned to use the poet's pen, 
He learned likewise with smoothing words to feign, 
Witching chaste ears with trothless tongues of men, 
And wronged faith with falsehood and disdain. 
He gives a promise now, anon he sweareth " No ! " 
Who listeth for to prove shall find his changing so. 

Fie, fie then on fancy, 

It hinders youth's joy ; 

Fair virgins, learn by me 

To count love a toy. 

(Groatsworth of Wit.) 


WHAT meant the poets in invective verse 
To sing Medea's shame, and Scylla's pride, 
Calypso's charms by which so many died ? 
Only for this their vices they rehearse : 
That curious wits which in the world converse, 
May shun the dangers and enticing shows 
Of such false sirens, those home-breeding foes 
That from their eyes their venom do disperse. 
So soon kills not the basilisk with sight ; 
The vipers tooth is not so venomous ; 
The adder's tongue not half so dangerous, 
As they that bear the shadow of delight, 
Who chain blind youths in trammels of their hair, 
Till waste brings woe, and sorrow hastes despair. 


Verses Written in the Poet's 
Last Illness 

DECEIVING world, that with alluring toys 
Hast made my life the subject of thy scorn, 
And scornest now to lend thy fading joys 
T' outlength my life, whom friends have left forlorn, 

Robert Greene 

How well are they that die ere they be born, 
And never see thy slights, which few men shun 
Till unawares they helpless are undone ! 

Oft have I sung of love and of his fire ; 
But now I find that poet was advised 
Which made full feasts increasers of desire, 
And proves weak love was with the poor despised ; 
For when the life with food is not sufficed, 
What thoughts of love, what motion of delight, 
What pleasance can proceed from such a wight ? 

Witness my want, the murderer of my wit : 
My ravished sense, of wonted fury reft, 
Wants such conceit as should in poems fit 
Set down the sorrow wherein I am left ; 
But therefore have high heavens their gifts bereft, 
Because so long they lent them me to use, 
And I so long their bounty did abuse. 

O that a year were granted me to live, 
And for that year my former wits restored ! 
What rules of life, what counsel would I give, 
How should my sin with sorrow be deplored ! 
But I must die of every man abhorred : 

Time loosely spent will not again be won ; 

My time is loosely spent, and I undone. 



Thomas Lodge and 
Robert Greene 

Wanton Beauty 

BEAUTY, alas ! where wast thou born, 
Thus to hold thyself in scorn ? 
Whenas Beauty kissed to woo thee, 
Thou by Beauty dost undo me : 
Heigh ho, despise me not. 

I and thou in sooth are one, 
Fairer thou, I fairer none : 
Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanton, 

Yield a cruel heart to plant on ? 
Do me right, and do me reason ; 
Cruelty is cursed treason : 

Heigh ho, I love, heigh ho, I love ; 
Heigh ho, and yet he eyes me not. 

(A Looking-Glass for London 
and England.} 

Samuel Daniel 

The Golden Age 
A Pastoral 

O HAPPY Golden Age, 
Not for that rivers ran 

With streams of milk, and honey dropped from trees ; 
Not that the earth did gage 
Unto the husbandman 
Her voluntary fruits, free without fees ; 
Not for no cold did freeze, 
Nor any cloud beguile 
Th' eternal flowering Spring, 
Wherein lived every thing, 
And whereon th' heavens perpetually did smile ; 
Not for no ship had brought, 
From foreign shores, or wars or wares ill sought. 

But only for that name, 
That idle name of wind, 
That idol of deceit, that empty sound 
Called HONOUR, which became 
The tyrant of the mind, 

And so torments our Nature without ground, 
Was not yet vainly found ; 
Nor yet sad griefs imparts 
Amidst the sweet delights 
Of joyful amorous wights. 

Nor were his hard laws known to free-born hearts, 
But golden laws like these 
Which Nature wrote : That's lawful which doth 

P. 6 D 49 

Samuel Daniel 

Then amongst flowers and springs, 
Making delightful sport, 
Sate lovers without conflict, without flame ; 
And nymphs and shepherds sings, 
Mixing in wanton sort 

Whisp'rings with songs, then kisses with the same, 
Which from affection came. 
The naked virgin then 
Her roses fresh reveals, 
Which now her veil conceals, 
The tender apples in her bosom seen ; 
And oft in rivers clear 
The lovers with their loves consorting were. 

HONOUR, thou first didst close 
The spring of all delight ; 
Denying water to the amorous thirst 
Thou taught'st fair eyes to lose 
The glory of their light, 

Restrained from men, and on themselves reversed. 
Thou in a lawn didst first 
Those golden hairs encase 
Late spread unto the wind. 
Thou mad'st loose grace unkind, 
Gav'st bridle to their words, art to their pace. 
O Honour ! it is thou 
That mak'st that stealth, which Love doth free allow. 

It is thy work that brings 
Our griefs and torments thus. 
But thou, fierce Lord of Nature and of Love, 
The qualifier of Kings, 
What dost thou here with us 
That are below thy power, shut from above ? 
Go, and from us remove ; 
Trouble the mighty's sleep : 
Let us, neglected, base, 
Live still without thy grace, 
And th' use of th' ancient happy ages keep : 
Let's love : this life of ours 
Can make no truce with Time that all devours. 


Samuel Daniel 

Let's love : the sun doth set and rise again ; 

But whenas our short light 

Comes once to set, it makes eternal night. 


ARE they shadows that we see ? 

And can shadows pleasure give ? 
Pleasures only shadows be, 

Cast by bodies we conceive, 
And are made the things we deem 
In those figures which they seem. 

But these pleasures vanish fast 
Which by shadows are expressed : 

Pleasures are not, if they last, 
In their passing is their best : 

Glory is most bright and gay 

In a flash, and so away. 

Feed apace, then, greedy eyes, 

On the wonder you behold ; 
Take it sudden as it flies, 

Though you take it not to hold : 
When your eyes have done their part, 
Thought must length it in the heart. 

( Tethys* Festival.) 

Early Love 

AH, I remember well and how can I 
But evermore remember well ? when first 
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was 
The flame we felt ; when as we sat and sighed 
And looked upon each other, and conceived 
Not what we ailed, yet something we did ail, 

Samuel Daniel 

And yet were well, and yet we were not well, 
And what was our disease we could not tell. 
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look : and thus 
In that first garden of our simpleness 
We spent our childhood. But when years began 
To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then 
Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, 
Check my presumption and my forwardness ! 
Yet still would give me flowers, still would show 
What she would have me, yet not have me, know. 
(Hymeris Triumph, Act I., Sc. i., //. 83-98.) 


HAD Sorrow ever fitter place 

To act his part, 

Than is my heart, 
Where it takes up all the space 

Where is no vein 

To entertain 
A thought that wears another face ? 

Nor will I sorrow ever have, 

Therein to be 

But only thee, 
To whom I full possession gave : 

Thou in thy name 

Must hold the same 
Until thou bring it to the grave. 

(Hymeris Triumph, Act I., Sc. i.) 

Love's Torment 

LOVE is a sickness full of woes, 

All remedies refusing ; 
A plant that with most cutting grows, 

Most barren with best using. 


Samuel Daniel 

Why so ? 

More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, 

Heigh ho ! 

Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempest everlasting ; 
And Jove hath made it of a kind 
Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 

Why so? 

More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, 

Heigh ho / 
(Hy merits Triumph, Act I., Sc. v.) 

Love's Secrecy 

EYES, hide my love, and do not show 
To any but to her my notes, 
Who only doth that cipher know 

Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts : 
Belie your looks in others' sight, 
And wrong yourselves to do her right. 

(Hymen's Triumph, Act IV., Sc. ii.) 

Ulysses and the Siren 


COME, worthy Greek ! Ulysses, come ; 
Possess these shores with me ! 
The winds and seas are troublesome, 
And here we may be free. 

Here may we sit and view their toil 
That travail on the deep, 
And joy the day in mirth the while, 
And spend the night in sleep. 


Samuel Daniel 


Fair nymph, if fame or honour were 
To be attained with ease, 
Then would I come and rest with thee 
And leave such toils as these. 

But here it dwells, and here must I 
With danger seek it forth : 
To spend the time luxuriously 
Becomes not men of worth. 


Ulysses, O be not deceived 
With that unreal name ; 
This honour is a thing conceiv'd 
And rests on others' fame ; 
Begotten only to molest 
Our peace, and to beguile 
The best thing of our life our rest, 
And give us up to toil. 


Delicious Nymph, suppose there were 
Nor honour, nor report, 
Yet manliness would scorn to wear 
The time in idle sport. 

For toil doth give a better touch 
To make us feel our joy, 
And ease finds tediousness as much 
As labour yields annoy. 


Then pleasure likewise seems the shore 
Whereto tends all our toil, 
Which you forego to make it more, 
And perish oft the while. 

Who may disport them diversely 
Find never tedious day, 
And ease may have variety 
As well as action may. 


Samuel Daniel 


But natures of the noblest frame, 
These toils and dangers please, 
And they take comfort in the same 
As much as you in ease ; 

And with the thought of actions past 
Are recreated still, 

When Pleasure leaves a touch at last, 
To show that it was ill. 


That doth Opinion only cause 
That's out of Custom bred, 
Which makes us many other laws 
Than ever Nature did. 

No widows wail for our delights, 
Our sports are without blood ; 
The world, we see, by warlike wights 
Receives more hurt than good. 


But yet the state of things require 
These motions of unrest ; 
And these great spirits of high desire 
Seem born to turn them best : 

To purge the mischiefs that increase, 
And all good order mar, 
For oft we see a wicked peace 
To be well changed for war. 


Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 
I shall not have thee here ; 
And therefore I will come to thee 
And take my fortune there. 

I must be won that cannot win, 
Yet lost were I not won ; 
For beauty hath created been 
To undo, or be undone. 


Samuel Daniel 
Sonnets to Delia 1 

UNTO the boundless ocean of thy beauty 

Runs this poor river, charged with streams of zeal, 

Returning thee the tribute of my duty, 

Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal. 

Here I unclasp the book of my charged soul, 

Where I have cast th' accounts of all my care ; 

Here have I summed my sighs ; here I enroll 

How they were spent for thee ; look what they 


Look on the dear expenses of my youth, 
And see how just I reckon with thine eyes ; 
Examine well thy beauty with my truth, 
And cross my cares, ere greater sums arise : 
Read it, sweet maid, though it be done but slightly ; 
Who can show all his love, doth love but lightly. 


Fair is my Love, and cruel as she's fair ; 

Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are 

sunny ; 

Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair ; 
And her disdains are gall, her favours honey : 
A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, 
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love ; 
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, 
Sacred on earth, design'd a Saint above. 
Chastity and Beauty, which were deadly foes 
Live reconciled friends within her brow ; 
And had she pity to conjoin with those, 
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now ? 
For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, 
My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. 

1 Numbered here as in the 1594 Edition the poet's final 


Samuel Daniel 


Restore thy tresses to the golden ore ; 
Yield Cytherea's son those arcs of love ; 
Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore, 
And to the orient do thy pearls remove ; 
Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory white ; 
To Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet ; 
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright ; 
To Thetis give the honour of thy feet ; 
Let Venus have thy graces her resigned, 
And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres ; 
But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind 
To Hyrean tigers and to ruthless bears ; 
Yield to the marble thy hard heart again : 
So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to pain. 


Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose, 

(The image of thy blush and summer's honour) 

Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose 

That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. 

No sooner spreads her glory in the air, 

But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline ; 

She then is scorned that late adorned the fair. 

So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ; 

No April can revive thy withered flowers, 

Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now : 

Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, 

Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow. 

Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, 

But love whilst that thou may'st be loved again. 


But love while that thou may'st be loved again ! 
Now whilst thy May hath filled thy lap with flow'rs ; 
Now whilst thy beauty bears without a stain ; 
Now use the summer smiles ere winter low'rs. 
And whilst thou spread's! unto the rising sun 
The fairest flower that ever saw the light, 


Samuel Daniel 

Now 'joy thy time before thy sweet be done ; 
And, Delia, think thy morning must have night, 
And that thy brightness sets at length to west 
When thou wilt close up that which now thou show'st ; 
And think the same becomes thy fading best, 
Which then shall most enveil and shadow most. 
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was, 
When once they find her flow'r, her glory, pass. 


Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, 
Whose short refresh upon the tender green 
Cheers for a time but till the sun doth shew 
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. 
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish ; 
Short is the glory of the blushing rose : 
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, 
Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose. 
When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, 
Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth, 
And that, in Beauty's lease expired, appears 
The Date of Age, the Kalends of our Death, 
But ah, no more ! this must not be foretold ; 
For women grieve to think they must be old. 


I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read 
Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile ; 
Flowers have a time before they come to seed, 
And she is young, and now must sport the while. 
And sport, sweet Maid, in season of these years, 
And learn to gather flowers before they wither ; 
And where the sweetest blossom first appears 
Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither. 
Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air 
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise : 
Pity and smiles do best become the fair ; 
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. 
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,j 
Happy the heart that sighed for such a one. 

Samuel Daniel 


Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, 1 in silent darkness born, 
Relieve my languish, and restore the light ; 
With dark forgetting of my care, return, 
And let the day be time enough to mourn 
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
Without the torment of the night's untruth. 
Cease, Dreams, the images of day-desires, 
To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
Never let rising sun approve you liars, 
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 


Let others sing of Knights and Paladines 
In aged accents and untimely words ; 
Paint shadows in imaginary lines 
Which well the reach of their high wits records : 
But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes 
Authentic shall my verse in time to come ; 
When yet th' unborn shall say, Lo, where she lies 
Whose beauty made him speak that else was dumb. 
These are the arks, the trophies I erect, 
That fortify thy name against old age ; 
And these thy sacred virtues must protect 
Against the dark, and Time's consuming rage. 
Though th' error of my youth in them appear, 
Suffice they shew I lived, and loved thee dear. 

Cf. J. Fletcher's 

" Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, 
Brother to Death ..." 

(Valentinian, V. ii.) 


Samuel Daniel 

Spring Song 1 

Now each creature joys the other, 
Passing happy days and hours ; 

One bird reports unto another 
In the fall of silver showers ; 

Whilst the earth, our common mother, 
Hath her bosom decked with flowers. 

Whilst the greatest torch of heaven 
With bright rays warms Flora's lap, 

Making nights and days both even, 
Cheering plants with fresher sap, 

My field of flowers, quite bereaven, 
Wants refresh of better hap. 

Echo, daughter of the air, 

Babbling guest of rocks and hills, 
Knows the name of my fierce fair, 

And sounds the accents of my ills : 
Each thing pities my despair, 

Whilst that she her lover kills. 

Whilst that she O cruel maid ! 
Doth me and my true love despise, 

My life's flourish is decayed, 
That depended on her eyes : 

But her will must be obeyed, 
And well he ends for love who dies. 

1 Appended to Delia (1592). 


Samuel Daniel 

Epistle to the Lady 

Countess of Cumberland l 

HE that of such a height hath built his mind, 
And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, 
As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame 
Of his resolved powers, nor all the wind 
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong 
His settled peace, or to disturb the same ; 
What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may 
The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey ! 

And with how free an eye doth he look down 

Upon these lower regions of turmoil, 

Where all the storms of passions mainly beat 

On flesh and blood ; where honour, power, renown, 

Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ; 

Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet 

As frailty doth, and only great doth seem 

To little minds, who do it so esteem. 

He looks upon the mightiest monarchs' wars 

But only as on stately robberies, 

Where evermore the fortune that prevails 

Must be the right : the ill-succeeding mars 

The fairest and the best-faced enterprize. 

Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails : 

Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 

Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill. 

He sees the face of Right t' appear as manifold 

As are the passions of uncertain man, 

Who puts it in all colours, all attires, 

To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 

1 " A picture of a wise man's mind in a time of public 
commotion. "WORDSWORTH. 


Samuel Daniel 

He sees, that let deceit work what it can, 
Plot and contrive base ways to high desires, 
That the all-guiding Providence doth yet 
All disappoint, and mocks this smoke of wit. 

Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks 

Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow 

Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes, 

Charged with more crying sins than those he checks. 

The storms of sad confusion, that may grow 

Up in the present for the coming times, 

Appal not him that hath no side at all, 

But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 

Although his heart, so near allied to earth, 

Cannot but pity the perplexed state 

Of troublous and distress'd mortality, 

That thus make way unto the ugly birth 

Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 

Affliction upon imbecility ; 

Yet, seeing thus the course of things must run, 

He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. 

And whilst distraught Ambition compasses 
And is encompassed ; whilst as Craft deceives 
And is deceived ; whilst man doth ransack man, 
And builds on blood, and rises by distress ; 
And th' inheritance of desolation leaves 
To great-expecting hopes ; he looks thereon, 
As from the shore of peace, with umvet eye, 
And bears no venture in impiety. 

Thus, Madam, fares the man that hath prepared 
A rest for his desires, and sees all things 
Beneath him, and hath learned this book of man, 
Full of the notes of frailty, and compared 
The best of glory with her sufferings ; 
By whom, I see, you labour all you can 
To plant your heart, and set your thoughts as near 
His glorious mansion, as your powers can bear, 

Samuel Daniel 

Which, Madam, are so soundly fashioned 

By that clear judgment, that hath carried you 

Beyond the feeble limits of your kind, 

As they can stand against the strongest head 

Passion can make ; inured to any hue 

The world can cast ; that cannot cast that mind 

Out of her form of goodness, that doth see 

Both what the best and worst of earth can be ; 

Which makes that, whatsoever here befalls, 
You in the region of yourself remain ; 
Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests, 
That lieth secured within the brazen walls 
Of a clear conscience that without all stain 
Rises in peace, in innocency rests ; 
Whilst all what Malice from without procures, 
Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours. 

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge 
Than women use to do, yet you well know 
That wrong is better checked by being contemned 
Than being pursued ; leaving to him t' avenge 
To whom it appertains ; wherein you show 
How worthily your clearness hath condemned 
Base Malediction, living in the dark, 
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark ; 

Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
The centre of his world, about the which 
These revolutions of disturbances 
Still roll ; where all th' aspects of misery 
Predominate ; whose strong effects are such 
As he must bear, being pow'rless to redress ; 
And that unless above himself he can 
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man ; 

And how turmoiled they are that level lie 

With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence ; 

That never are at peace with their desires, 

But work beyond their years, and ev'n deny 


Samuel Daniel 

Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense 
With death ; that when Ability expires, 
Desire lives still, so much delight they have 
To carry toil and travail to the grave ; 

Whose ends you see, and what can be the best 
They reach unto, when they have cast the sum 
And reck'nings of their glory ; and you know, 
This floating life hath but this port of rest, 
A heart prepared that fears no ill to come ; 
And that man's greatness rests but in his show, 
The best of all whose days consumed are, 
Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 

This concord, Madam, of a well-tuned mind 

Hath been so set by that all-working hand 

Of Heaven, that, though the World hath done his worst 

To put it out, by discords most unkind, 

Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 

With God and man ; nor ever will be forced 

From that most sweet accord, but still agree, 

Equal in Fortune's inequality. 

And this note, Madam, of your worthiness 
Remains recorded in so many hearts, 
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right 
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess, 
You that have built you by your great deserts, 
Out of small means, a far more exquisite 
And glorious dwelling for your honoured name, 
Than all the gold of leaden minds can frame. 

Turnbull & Spears, Printers, Edinburgh. 

A n n n "III will II